Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 15, 2025
I drank coffee at Tortoni's. I visited the studio of Meissonier. I stood in the crowd that collected round Rosa Bonheur's "Horse Fair," which was in the Salon that year. I grew dead sick of the endless galleries of the Louvre.
In fact, the soldiers were but few, for all were being concentrated on that part of the Boulevard where strangers do their shopping and eat ices at Tortoni's. The programme for that day was not fighting, but a massacre. The American gentleman whose narrative I am about to quote, says, "On December 3 there was more excitement in the streets than there had been on December 2.
Tortoni's, the last survivor of whose founders died only the other day, has its historical reminiscences. Therein is to be found the salon, known as the "blue salon," once hallowed by the occupancy of M. de Talleyrand.
We passed another column before we entered the Place Gambetta, where already at that early hour, above its wide terrace, the striped awning of Tortoni's was flung. We alighted at the hotel and ordered our three rooms; coffee and roll to be taken up to madame; we men would eat our petit déjeuner downstairs. Liosha left us without saying a word.
Just pick up the first girl you meet on the pavement. "And before the hour was up, I was bolting the door of a room, which looked out onto the boulevard. "The woman whom I had picked up, as she was walking past the cafés, from the Vaudeville to Tortoni's, was twenty at the most.
"Say, Ida," interrupted Vandover at length, "I'm pretty hungry. Can't we go somewhere and eat something? I'd like a Welsh rabbit." "All right," she answered. "Where do you want to go?" "Well," replied Vandover, running over in his mind the places he might reach by unfrequented streets. "There's Marchand's or Tortoni's or the Poodle Dog." "Suits me," she answered, "any one you like.
He wrote them to the Cafe Americain, to Bignon's, to Tortoni's, to the Maison Doree, to the Cafe Riche, to the Helder, to the Cafe Anglais, to the Napolitain, everywhere, everywhere. He wrote them to all the officials of the republican government, from the magistrates to the ministers. And he was happy, perfectly happy. One morning as he was starting out to go to the council it began to rain.
He asked me questions that showed he knew all about these things, mentioned names, all the familiar names in vaudeville known on the sidewalks. "Whom does one see at Tortoni's now? "Always the same crowd, except those who died." I looked at him attentively, haunted by a vague recollection. I certainly had seen that head somewhere. But where? And when?
That some wretched farmers and miners should refuse to starve, that I may not be deprived of my demi-tasse at Tortoni's, that I may not be forced to leave this beautiful retreat, my cat and my python monstrous. And these wretched creatures will find moral support in England; they will find pity! Pity, that most vile of all vile virtues, has never been known to me.
I recollect dining, in 1816, at Hervey Aston's, at the Hotel Breteuil in the Rue de Rivoli, opposite the Tuileries, where I met Seymour Bathurst and Captain E , of the Artillery, a very good-looking man. After dinner, Mrs. Aston took us as far as Tortoni's, on her way to the Opera.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking